On Sept. 23, 1895, William Henry Jackson (1843-1942) of the Transportation Department of the Field Museum of Chicago and a member of World’s Fair Transportation Commission arrived at Jemulpo, Korea. It was his intention to make a quick visit to Seoul and then proceed overland to Wonsan where he would rejoin his companions aboard their steamship.

Korea at this time was filled with unrest. The Sino-Japanese War had ended earlier that year but the countryside was filled with rebels. Jackson wrote, “The risk was evidently considerable, but the temptation was great to see something of the land and people of the lately secluded nation at home, and in the end I determined to risk it.”

He could have gone to Seoul by the small river steamer but the notorious reputation it had for stranding itself upon the sandbars in the Han River convinced him to go overland. So he hired a Korean pony and couple of handlers for a mere $2.70.

As he approached Seoul he wrote: “The greatness of gate and wall is, like most other things, only comparative. They are like small and rude imitations of those of Peking; but in spite of their reduced size, they strike the observer in the same way.”

As for the city itself, he described it as little better than “a vast collection of huts, dirty, [and] mean straw-thatched.” The city was said to possess some 400,000 people living in 80,000 of these little houses. Jackson concluded, “It would be difficult to conceive of a more monotonous or depressing-looking hive of humanity.”

Invited by King Gojong, Jackson (accompanied by Dr. Horace N. Allen, Secretary of the American legation) went to the palace that evening where he was met by a Korean official who treated him to warm champagne, sweet cakes and cigars — “the proper entertainment for distinguished strangers in the royal palace at Seoul.”

“The King,” wrote Jackson, “is a small man who looks insignificant enough besides his tall attendants, but as soon as the conversation began, his face lighted up with interest and intelligence. He was plainly dressed in some dark material, and wore few ornaments. He asked many questions through the interpreter, and seemed anxious that we should have a good impression of Korea. He was concerned that our consular service was not of so high a rank as that of some other countries, and begged me to use my influence to have this altered, and also to have Dr. Allen who seemed a great favorite, appointed minister.”

Apparently the king was referring to Miura Goro, the Japanese representative to Korea and the doyen of the diplomatic community. Miura was extremely abusive to the Korean monarch and would, just two weeks later, help plan and implement the assassination of Empress Myeongseong.

Jackson also met the crown prince whom he described as “a full-faced, sleepy-looking young man” who “appeared to take but little interest, however, in anything that was said, never committing himself to more than a monosyllable in reply, and, in short, appearing to very small advantage besides the King, whose interests and intelligence were marked throughout the interview.”

After their interview, they were escorted back to the American legation by a Korean officer and twelve guards — each carrying “a lantern of blue and white gauze, some four feet long, swung from the end of a pole, and containing a single candle.”

“[It was] by this means,” wrote Jackson, “and in spite of the wretched light afforded by each, we were enabled to avoid the numerous ditches and gaping mud holes, which otherwise might have proved positively dangerous to life.”

The following morning Jackson departed Seoul for Wonsan by horse. Despite many people’s misgivings, he successfully made the journey in eight days and met the rest of the commission on their journey to Vladivostok. “The best hope for Korea’s future,” he wrote, “lies in the connection with Japan.”

Less than a week later, Empress Myeongseong was dead — slain by Japanese assassins.